


Perception, and how it was dashed.

by LadyOracle



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-17
Updated: 2012-04-17
Packaged: 2017-11-03 20:15:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/385491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyOracle/pseuds/LadyOracle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“She thought that this was the nasty underbelly of love, it’s sticky sister; lust.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perception, and how it was dashed.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire.

Sansa had never really seen the appeal before this. Yes, there had been allusions to what went on once a knight and his lady were wed, but Sansa, up to this moment, had never really been much taken with the idea - surely, in the end, the poetry and courtship were much more pleasurable? She thought that this was the nasty underbelly of love, it’s sticky sister; lust. 

Yet Margaery Tyrell was leaving her quite breathless, her skirts quite mussed and her hair quite disarrayed.

Sansa’s dress was undone, Margaery’s deft fingers haven taken care of that in a moment, whilst Sansa was distracted with a rather long, langourous kiss.

“What if someone comes?” She moaned into Margaery’s mouth.

“If someone comes,” Margaery replied, with a wicked smirk, as Sansa’s knees hit the bed and Margaery took advantage of her momentary lack of balance to push her back onto it. “Then we’ll say we’re practising – for – our – husbands.” She punctuated every word with a well-placed kiss, on Sansa’s neck, on her nipple, momentarily taking it into her mouth and rolling it with her tongue, and her stomach.

Sansa felt a laugh ache at her throat. “Don’t make fun of me,” She said, pretending to be hurt.

Margaery pinched her nipple. Sansa arched. “As if I would,”

Then Margaery’s fingers, surprisingly cool, were inside her, and Sansa forgot to be coquettish.

Sansa felt pleasure overcome her, several grunting, groaning moments later – she always, for some reason, resisted, resisted until Margaery growled with the challenge of it – with her hands buried deep in Margaery’s hair and Margaery’s mouth a her breast. She groaned, and was blinded.

Sansa lay still, and allowed Margaery to come to her, kissing her neck and her ear. She ran one finger between Margaery’s thighs, registering the damp curls there, and realised, that sometime, somewhere, Margaery had ground herself to climax against Sansa’s thigh. 

“I never really knew what fucking was until I met you,”

“Lady Sansa,” Margaery murmured. “Language,” She paused, propping herself up on one hand. “And I’m sure you did,”

“Not really…” Sansa blew a wisp of Margaery’s hair from her face. “I assumed it was something women endured…for the sake of her husband’s pleasure and for the bloodlines…”

Margaery looked thoughtful. “Some women do,”

“Not us, though,”

Margaery laughed. “No. Not us,”

-

The End


End file.
